Mountains
by Atheniandream
Summary: Pre 7.14 'Whatever she had been looking for between them, inside of him, to her mind, wasn't there.' Harvey POV.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: I'm not going to lie, I just love to write Harvey's 'insides'. Especially when they are solely about Donna Paulsen. He is a simple soul, wrapped in complications of youth. How Harvey Specter ticks is very much my morning coffee._

. . . ..

 **Mountains**

By Atheniandream

. . ...

 _Standing now  
Calling all the people here to see the show  
Calling for my demons now to let me go  
I need something, give me something wonderful  
I believe_

 _She won't take me somewhere I'm not supposed to be  
You can't steal the things that god has given me  
No more pain and no more shame and misery_

 _You can't take me down  
You can't break me down  
You can't take me down_

 _. . . .._

 _Harvey kneels, filling his lungs with breath, feeling that thick curtain of hair brush against his knuckles, the emotion it conjures bringing the hairs on the back of his hand to stand in attention as his eyes flick to examine hazel flecks and the warmth of a held emotion that hasn't quite reached the surface yet. He smirks, half to himself, the glistening morning rays catching between that waterfall of copper and tangerine waves. There is something so vibrant and so precious about their bodies exhibiting the same space, like two kindred spirits aligning on the same common truth. Like two parts of a whole rounding together to complete a circle and ignite it's true power. His hand lifts to her face, the coffee coloured freckles sending a shiver through his chest and his nipples to harden, as her eyes witness his action, the tanned skin of his fingers sliding over the pinnacle of her porcelain cheekbone, eliciting a smile that bends across her own face as she leans indulgently into him. It ruptures a control that he has been holding within him for what feels like far too long a time, as he inhales sharply, awash with attraction and something guttural overriding his mind as his other hand flattens on the curve of her back, pressing them flush together, his nose brushing along the side of hers, before he angles his head in a rush, claiming her lips in a way that has her gasping against him, her hands encircling him to pull him even closer into her as their lips entangle almost, his mouth sucking at hers with an insistence that could claim his entire day as only her. Without warning he is nudging her backwards into cushions and swathes of light grey material, his arms wrapping around her to brace their fall as she chuckles into his mouth._

 _He feels like a passion-heated breeze on a lost Arizona highway, lit up by the untempered sun, as he breaks apart from her, hovering above her smirking form._

" _I love that we can do this now." He tells her, his voice honest and stripped of doubt, his hands and fingertips tracing her hip bones as his eyes, full of fire and light yet something a touch cautious, wander with a purpose over her body. "Promise me...it'll never change?" He asks her, his voice heavy and hard and hopeful._

 _He feels a shift, something that circumvents the tone as she sits up against him, suddenly predatory as her eyes turn brown and withholding, her hand scraping down his neck like a brandished memory of their past as she kisses him on his left, the space just below his ear, before her lips raise to whisper._

" _But Harvey...I didn't feel anything when I kissed you." She says, shocking his sense as she pulls back to look squarely at him. "Whatever I thought might be there,_ _ **wasn't**_ _." She says._

His eyes snap open with a thud, on the edge of a gasp, a frown ripping into action quicker than his brain can even adjust to his true surroundings. It drops a pit in his stomach, as he sits up on the bed, the cover pooling around him. He looks down briefly, his head bowing in disappointment at the very clear fact; _he is hard as fuck._

 _It was a dream. A goddamn dream…_

 _For all the best and worst reasons imaginable._

He whips a breath into his lungs, resentment and disappointment painting his face with a disjointedness as he tries to calm the arousal with in him, reminding himself of a very agonizing truth that had hung in her words.

Whatever she had been looking for between them, _inside_ of him, to her mind, wasn't there.

And now, whenever he looks at her, and her back at him, it's like she's seeing someone else.

It was apparent that at this point, his life really couldn't get _much_ worse.

Jessica was gone, an admission that still stung no matter how well he had dealt with the aftermath. Her guidance, and her assurances of his personal relationships weren't worth the paper that they were printed on.

He had left Paula Agard behind. Because she wasn't the one. He knew that, through and through but it didn't lessen the burn of having to end _yet another_ relationship. He had been fighting the truths in his heart and the circumstances all around him, and everything had come to a bitter climax. _But for what?_

What was the truth ever going to give him in return?

For a man who had loved his life, dating women, sleeping with as many as he could fit into a work week. Hitting cases head on and smashing the competition, he realises, now, that his younger self had been blind to the real world, distracted with living at the top of his game.

Now, Harvey Specter was older, wiser, but no better off, it seemed.

He was tired.

Being Managing Partner was tiring.

Change was tiring.

 _The thought of Donna Paulsen made him more so…_

He showers in silence, the welcome relief of any unnatural arousal washing away with the night before. He doesn't examine his face in the mirror, doesn't catch the indented frown he already knows is going to plague his day and catch at her attentions with record timing.

For the first time in his life, he's actually glad she's not his Assistant anymore. That there is at least a wall enough to hide him from her keen deductions, and confused attention of him.

He dresses in a calculated fashion. Not a hair, pleat or cufflink out of place. He does it half to eliminate her assault of his attire, and half as a true act of defiance. _To ensure that she can't tell a damned thing about his current emotional state._

He ignores the vanilla in his coffee, how it's mere presence soothes him, and then he's sure, that all the preparation, and the time that he wasted picking the perfect tie was worth it, if he accidentally softens in the wake of seeing her.

He's fought many things over the years. Her pushing at him, gripping him for answers over the reasoning of Mike's situation, and his actions, the many relationships he's had, and even her, at points. He's resisted her, even tried to second guess her strategies just to give him some semblance of inner peace.

But there have been days...that she doesn't ask. That she's silent, and removed and it leaves him...longing.

He doesn't understand her part in his life anymore. And yet he can't see over her, now.

She is all he sees for miles and miles and miles. Like a mountain he can never overcome.

Paula showed him that, at least. Donna is the answer to every question in his life, and that truth is more agonizing than any bruise he's ever nursed, or any drop of blood that has ever been shed in his life. Out of his Mother, his Father, infidelity and his inability to share himself with the world, after all that has passed him, and after all that he has personally achieved,

She is the last problem in his life.

It's polarising, a person that has carried him in so many ways for so long, now being his only obstacle.

And it hurts, that it's her, above everybody else.

..

He glides out of his building, noticing his car pull up, Ray reliably rolling down the window, his usual cordial smile peeking at him through the mirror.

He softens then. Ray is gentle soul, with a loyal appreciation of his role in Harvey's life, and a similar love for Jazz. He smirks at his friend, opening the car door to slide sleekly onto the backseat.

"Morning, Mr Specter," Ray says into the rearview mirror.

Ray is like Donna in some ways, perceptive, but more respectful of his boundaries. The man can tell when his walls are up and there's nobody home, and similarly the days when there is a spring in his step.

"Morning Ray." He offers in response, trying to be cordial. "How's the ball and chain?"

He realises only after he says it, that he's verging on untreated ground.

"Same old, Sir. And yourself?" He replies as the car pulls away into busy traffic. "How is Ms Agard?"

He swallows thickly. "She's...good. But, we...ended things." He admits, plainly.

"I'm sorry, Harvey." Ray replies. He can't see the man's face, but he'll wager that he's avoiding the rear view out of respect. Avoiding a reaction that would chart an opinion.

"It's okay. _Wasn't meant to be_." He says with a sigh, feeling his chest tighten despite Ray's kindness.

They approach a cavern of silence between them, as he lets Ray concentrate and as his gaze gravitates to the right window, the radio emitting streams of some instrumental sax solo that seems new and uncharted territory, but seems to soothe his tension somewhat. His eye spies woman after woman, beautiful and rare in their own particular ways, gliding along the sidewalk with that New York line of purpose. _Models. Lawyers. Bankers. Secretaries._ He frowns, examining each one. A few years ago, he'd have been lining every one up in his mind, picking up the one that caught his eye in more ways than one. Harvey had never been afraid to fail with women. He had the kind of charm that would slide right over the next woman should the first not be interested, and it wasn't that he saw them as the same. He loved women and he loved sex, and it was effortless for him for so long that it became a second nature game.

 _He's different now._

Scottie changed that.

But Donna enforced it.

Donna enforced everything about him, from that point on.

And he had let her.

Because he loved her. Loves her, still. And she knows it.

How much, he's never sure, even to himself, but he's told her. As much as he was able to at the time.

Paula Agard was a blind fear lodged into an action.

She was his attempt to move on from something that he had run from.

But all that was left, now, was _her_.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Ray?" He asks boldly, a tightness in his face to match the slightly intense tone.

He sees Ray's wide eyes scrutinise him in the mirror.

He shuffles in his seat, just to stop himself from ripping away from this little whim that has emerged from within him.

"Yes Harvey, _I do_." He says lightly, ever the chipper one between them. "Why do you ask?"

"Did you ever...meet yours?" He asks then.

"Harvey...I was lucky enough to _marry_ mine." He watches as the man smiles to himself.

He notices that look...He's felt that look before...

"Why do you ask?" Ray's voice cuts through his reverie, as his eyes, slightly glazed flick up to his friend and driver.

" _No reason_." He remarks, the response automatic. "Just... _something someone said_."

He doesn't bother to look at Ray again during the rest of the journey, and is inwardly relieved when the firm's building slides against the car's right side, the sidewalk stilling and people marching at various speeds beside his seated form. He glides out of the car, giving Ray a cursory nod, before entering the lobby.

He rides on autopilot, the security allowing him access without any ID - _something he had wrangled from years of the same staff and his branching reputation_ \- and joining an assorted variety of people in the elevator. His mind switches off, allowing him to compartmentalise his tough morning as he rides to the fiftieth floor, the doors opening out into the lobby. His name, front and center to his right gives him life, and breathes a little confidence into his current circumstance. There _have_ been wins, and he has accomplished something, at least.

" _Good Morning Mr Specter_ ," He receives from a lobby receptionist, the one that isn't occupied with a call. He smiles, tight lipped and dashes the image of the rather pretty woman laid flat on his bed, naked and wanting in some position he's encouraged her into - _something he knows is very much against the ethos he is trying to promote in his firm_ \- and stalks the halls towards his office. He passes Louis's glass enclosure of sorts, who salutes him from his desk, and Gretchen who gives him a knowing look - _although knowing of what, he is unsure. That woman is like dynamite, stuck in the top of a mountain of truth_ \- and passes Mike's office. It is empty, as per, and no doubt means that he is either late, _again_ , or busying himself into the day like he has known him to do.

Their relationship has changed since he fell, weed laden into Donna's impromptu interview. Out of work they are the same, friends, buddies, sparring partners. But in work, he is no longer hanging off his tailcoats. He has his own agenda, and his own stack of work to manage. He sighs, the days of their strict partnership behind them both in a way that still causes a sadness to pull at him.

 _He thinks on a drink, idly. He could use a beer and a buddy and a night away from the normal..._

He drops all thought, his footing stalling when he sees her, walking with paperwork in her arms, and a pen in her mouth, dressed in colours he hasn't seen on her in forever and day.

 _You don't own me_

 _Woah, let's go_

 _But I'm Gerald and I can always have just what I want_

 _She's that baddest I would love to flaunt_

 _Take her shopping, you know Yves Saint Laurent_

 _But nope, she ain't with it though_

 _All because she got her own dough_

 _Boss bossed if you don't know_

 _She could never ever be a broke ho_

 _You don't own me_

 _I'm not just one of your many toys_

 _You don't own me_

 _Don't say I can't go with other boys_

 _Don't tell me what to do_

 _And don't tell me what to say_

 _Please, when I go out with you_

 _Don't put me on display_

Her bright hair hangs in a ripple across the side of her face, something held and poised and slightly coral in tone, offsetting the royal blue sheath dress with flashes of silver. She is all legs, with very high nude Manolos, peach coloured lips and a dewiness in the sparkling sunlight of the day.

If seeing her last night pulled at the softness of her, barefoot and small and delicate, this was the very opposite, with her daring and alluring and all business.

 _Danger, in all her glory._

His jaw tightens, as she looks up, the picture of innocence and lightness in a way that draws a suspicion in his mind. Maroon nails pluck the pen from her mouth, as she holds the files to her chest.

"Hey...Harvey," She says, her tone bending slightly to match the angle of her head.

"Morning Donna," He says, drawing in a breath as he feels her almost match his height.

 _It doesn't take heels to have her make him feel small these days. Her mere presence in his life, and where he holds her do that just fine…_

She gives him a look, as he hurriedly side steps her, regretting almost instantly the sliver of feeling that he allows to pour out of him, closing his eyes in frustration as he stalks into his apartment and avoids any words she may have had for him.

If she asks how he's doing, or insinuates that he's suffering after Paula, he really will lose his shit.

He halts, an inch away from his desk.

There is a disposable coffee cup waiting for him, his name scrawled in her handwriting across the cardboard holder.

It's like the opposite of her goodbye letter of a resignation.

It's a love letter.

He shrugs out a breath, taking it in his hands as he pulls out his chair and sits down, a deeper frown knitting together as he brings the cup slowly to his lips, the still hot - _probably extra hot when she had ordered it, just the way he likes it_ \- coffee. It's salty tang mixes in with that innate flavour that he has tarnished his love for her with, as it washes cleanly over him, breathing life into his muscles, offering a bell's ring of attention into his brain, and calming him almost instantly.

He opens his eyes to the day. To the truths right in front of him.

And accepts this little piece of herself,

That she gives him without recourse.

For as long as this coffee lasts, he finds himself enduring the distance between them.

Even as she is no less than a wall away from him, in his less-than-perfect world,

 _But entire mountains away from him_ , in his mind.

. . ….

 _You can't take me down  
You can't break me down  
You can't take me down_

 _Love and hate  
How much more are we supposed to tolerate  
Can't you see there's more to me than my mistakes  
Sometimes I get this feeling makes me hesitate  
I believe_

 _She won't take me somewhere I'm not supposed to be  
You can't steal the things that god has given me  
No more pain and no more shame and misery_

 _. . …._

 _Fin._

 _. . …._

Notes:

 ** _LOOK OUT FOR THE MINI SEQUEL TO THIS, SET AFTER 7.14 & BEFORE 7.15 ENTITLED 'GOLD'_**

I can't help dressing Sarah Rafferty's Donna in things that Harvey Specter would secretly toy over in his mind. _Look up 'Oscar de la Renta - Coral embroidered sheath dress' on Saks Website for this one._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Notes** : Thought it would be cool to examine the same moment from Donna's perspective. I'm going to write the next 'Donna' Chapter for Gold, after 7.15 and 716. _

_. . ..._

Chapter Two:

Donna.

 _. . . .._

 _There is a swelling storm_

 _And I'm caught up in the middle of it all_

 _And it takes control_

 _Of the person that I thought I was_

 _The boy I used to know_

 _But there is a light_

 _In the dark_

 _And I feel its warmth_

 _In my hands_

 _In my heart_

 _Why can't I hold on_

 _'Waves' Acoustic by Dean Lewis._

 _. . . .._

' _She does._

 _ **It's over**_ _…'_

Donna wakes before the sky has even broken, turning over in her six hundred count egyptian cotton and the careful consideration of darkness, not even the silky smooth swathe of quilt pooling around her easing her overactive mind and restless spirit.

He chose _her_.

Whether he wanted to or not, or felt compelled to, he...Harvey...chose her, Donna... _over Paula_.

Over his girlfriend.

Over the most serious relationship he's ever had.

He ended things, before knowing if she would ever come back to him.

He was either the most arrogant man in the world, _or_ the most remorseful.

And now, it feels like winning the lottery, but knowing full well that you can't receive the winnings until it's been through the correct channels, and all the while being dirt poor and on the edge of homelessness.

She feels... _relieved,_ honestly, and it's another selfish feeling; of course, one that she feels compelled to keep in check. _For him._ But she got to keep her job yesterday, and today, and maybe the next day, and for that she is eternally grateful. She's made a home there. Built her career there, from what it was to what she wanted it to be. The firm is her family, now and forever and she almost got exiled out into the cold, over a dangerous whim.

She's lucky in ways she's never fully realised before.

She's not afraid to say that she's glad Paula is out of the picture...and not for the reasons you would first suspect. The woman was poison. Unethical. Controlling. She understood from the moment Donna had first walked into her office, where she had sat in Harvey's life. The woman had been given enough information - aside from their complicated personal history, _admittedly_ \- to know that she and Harvey were something else. Something beyond. Something worth steering clear of. That it hadn't just been a case of 'an assistant holding an inappropriate candle for her Boss'. Donna Paulsen had entered into an even agreement with a man, as an equal, as more than just the run of the mill work relationship. Even without the knowledge of them sleeping together, she still had the hard facts, that they had had a talk about their relationship, and that he had run from it, because she wanted more. That she had left him and only then, had he cracked, more so than even she thought possible.

He had been fragile, and confused, and broken, and she had interfered with that. And even if she hadn't...she should have known better than to accept the advances of a man with Harvey's history and scattered self.

She had always expected something of that nature from Scottie. But she had been wrong about Scottie. She was completely unlike Paula Agard. In reality, Scottie was no different from _her_ , complicatedly in love with a man who refused to surrender himself to anyone, no matter how much he felt.

She had an affinity with the woman, now. Both bruised by Harvey Specter. Both kept within his orbit, even when they tried their hardest to leave. He pushed and pushed and took, giving everything but himself.

She's awake now, the growing light slipping through her mind, nudging her mind until it's fully active and reeling.

She wanders into the bathroom, restlessly turning on the faucet. She needs to relax, to drench her mind in a way that a shower can't quite accommodate. She pours bubble bath, something lavender enriched and luxurious into the rising water, watching as it effervesces up and over like a fountain around the hot steamy flow of water. She wanders into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee machine that she'd prepped the night before, smelling the strong french vanilla roast as it strains through the percolator. She's always prefered a percolator to a barista machine. Espresso could be powerful, lighting your nerves on fire when you needed a boost. But she didn't need that, something that left you longing for more, or feeling too heavily wired. She was more of an Americano kind of girl, something longer and richer and darker but in a gradual dose that built up over time. She's pretty sure her heart would stop if she ever cut out coffee. It's her vice, just like complicated men.

 _One in particular springs to mind..._

She pads back into the bathroom, seeing the hot water rising to just over half a bath full, as she bends to turn off the hot tap and transfer power to the cold one.

She wouldn't usually have a bath in the morning. Baths are for evenings and relaxing, but she feels too fussed, to alert to all the information that she's missed between her saying she wanted more and him telling her that he's ended things. That he wanted her to come back to the firm.

She had tried to tune it out, that passage of time that Paula occupied, just for him, out of respect for his relationship, but mostly just to save herself from the growing hurt.

She thinks of the kiss. The way he had lent in, like a moth to a flame, for just a second long enough for her to get scared. A man like him could encourage that kind of emotion out of her. His lips had been soft, and his neck warm, as she had run her fingernails along the bare skin above his collar, feeding that need deep within her, that had been so buried by her decisions that she doubted it even still existed.

And then...she lied. Her biggest fault, and at the same time, some sort of saving grace.

She she hates herself for lying to him. She won't apologise for it, not to anyone, but the regret is there.

 _After all, how was she to know that he felt something, and wasn't just caught off guard by her actions?_

Men could be like that, and Harvey had been no different with other women. Men like him, could fuck you and enjoy it and still not feel a damned thing.

 _How was she supposed to know that he would own up to feeling something? To being that human?_

And on top of all of it, she wasn't to know that it would affect him to such a degree that he'd actually do something about it.

He pulled out the last thing in the world she ever thought he'd do.

Now, he was declining her invitations, and looking at her like she was a regret, like she was something he couldn't let go of no matter how hard he tried, every time causing him more pain than the first.

She wanted him to be happy. She still does. She's only ever wanted that for him. To meet the person he's supposed to start a life with. And If he had stayed with Scottie, and been happy, she would have endured. She would have been there for him. No questions asked. Even if she never found that person for herself. It would have been worth it, still.

The straw that broke the camel's back was his girlfriend trying to banish her. For her one mistake in thirteen years.

At least she knows one thing. That Harvey didn't think she deserved that, over all things. But something pulls at her about that scenario. About how he went to Stu, asking for the man to take her away. From the firm. From him. _How did he think she'd respond, to being exiled like that?_

He told her that he couldn't fire her.

She wonders if he regrets that alteration in his heart of hearts.

Her eyes catch at the bath, having forgotten about it as she hears the water reach the overflow pipe. She stretches to turn off the taps, bending down to place a hand in the water. She rolls her eyes, examining the eight or so inches of bubbles gathered like sugar loaf mountain in the middle of a lukewarm bath. She pulls the plug, watching as the water drains down. She stills in her mind just enough to concentrate on the steadily lowering waterline. She waits until just under a third remains, and half the amount of bubbles, before turning on the hot tap once more. She hopes that it fills soon enough before her unpredictable boiler chucks out the last of the hot water, dashing any hopes of a hot bath straight into cold.

She sighs when the room fills with steam, sitting on the edge of her bath, her hand stirring at the remaining donut of bubbles that wobble along the surface, a keen eye now trained on finishing the task at hand.

Harvey causes that in her. A fragmentation, where she can't quite concentrate as much as if she were trying to work out someone else's problem. Even with Mark, when he had offered an ultimatum she had been automatic in her response.

She couldn't promise that she would _never_ follow Harvey, wherever he chose to go.

That remained, for years. Until Paula, that is.

She makes a decision, then, shedding her silk robe, and pulling her nightdress over her head, letting them pool like liquid onto the floor as she steps into the hot water, just hot enough to offer that sear against her pale skin, the one that tells her the temperature will linger for a while. She hates cold baths, or worse still, lukewarm ones. The kind that your skin immediately grows used to a minute after you've gotten in.

As she leans back into the bath, her hair still tied up from her loose bedtime knot, she promises herself,

That if he finds someone else now, then

 _She's gone._

Forever. For her heart's sake. And for her survival. No matter how hard he tries to hold on. No matter the hoops he jumps through.

Finding someone else means that this heartache really is for nothing.

At least she's done what Mike asked.

He knows now.

And she knows.

And now all she can do is...wait.

She leans her head back against the roll top bath, allowing herself to settle in the warmth of the water and the calm of lavender scent vaporising all around her.

She decides just one more thing.

She isn't going to push. To prod. To cajole him into a reaction like she has done so many times. She's spent her life's work doing that for him, for his love interests, and for every woman in his life so far. _Even_ Paula.

It's about time that _he_ made the move. That he did the running.

She's worth it. She knows she is.

She just has to trust that maybe sticking by him really was for more than just to help him get to the finish line.

She's proud that they made it to the end, professionally.

And if it all fell down around him, she'd instil in him, that,

 _At least they made it to the finish line._

But she wonders if, perhaps, they both sacrificed themselves, over others, as a result of their shared dream.

 _Maybe regret is finally...catching up with her._

. . . ...

She dresses in a new buy, a simple dark blue dress with silver coral on it. Nothing too showy, and elegant enough that she still feels worth a damn. But the closer she gets to the firm, the more that strain of guilt starts to embroil her, play on her at just how to blame she has been over his entire situation.

She wonders how he is feeling today. If a nights sleep has soothed him, or reminded him of what he lost. What he had to give up, all for her to keep her job.

Her eyes catch at the corner of Water street, the Sky high buildings that rise for miles, and miles, and thinks of the men, sitting in their glass towers overhigh, observing the world from afar. The power players and the decision makers. Detached and emotionless and stoic in their attentions. She could see it in him from the beginning. His ability to grow apart from the world around him, no matter how high he climbed. How he had felt so separate and singular for so long, dragging his lonely soul about the world. To most, he had been gutsy, and playful and ambitious, but she...she could sense it. In some ways it had drawn her to him, like a moth to the flame. She was the daughter of a perpetually broken man. She should have seen it coming, really. _At least Freud would be satisfied, even if she isn't..._

Maybe there were things that they both ignored, just to by eachother's side.

She stops by the coffee cart guy, and ingrained effort as she orders for them both. She knows she'll make it before he does. After a night like last night, she doubts he'll make it until at least 8.30am, early enough to ease his troubled mind, but not too early as to be expecting the day to do it for him.

She writes his name on the cardboard coffee holder, taking a carrier to house both of their coffees, as she glides into their building.

She hadn't expected to be back so soon. _If at all._ Stu's proposal, if not completely orchestrated had been tempting. Stu understood her. They played in the same kind of pools, and of course finance was an unknown quantity to her. And entirely new playing field. But she would have made it work.

She sheds a sigh of relief that he's not made it in yet, the calendar from his secretary still laying on his desk, untouched. She gently places the cup down, name facing the doorway, and hopes that he will arrive soon enough to taste it at it's best. She had ordered it extra hot, how he likes it, pandering to the slight masochist inside of him.

She takes one look around at his office, trying to spot anything out of its place. _She knows that he hates it when people touch his things._

She doesn't linger on the thought, instead, picking up her bag and remaining cup to wander into her own office.

She busies herself, to quash that slightly nervous tick in expecting his arrival. She had spent well over a decade waiting for his _often l_ azy ass to wander in at any hour, making sure that everything catered to his individual mood on the day. It had always been countered with his hard work, and often staying well over what he would have missed in the morning. It took her a few lectures when they had returned to Pearson Hardman, to understand that _for him_ , it was like coming home. That Jessica didn't care what time he got in, as long as he was well ahead of schedules and making up for it by winning, and working into the evening. The only times the Managing Partner ever bothered her for his whereabouts were when she knew his behaviour was directly related to a situation that needed her attention, rather than just his casual idea of the standard work hours.

She sips at her coffee, glancing at a few documents that she had left on her desk for Gretchen to attend to in her supposed _permanent_ absence.

Yet, _here she was_. Back again. Two times and counting. She screws up the pink post-it in a ball with one hand, and tosses it into the nearby trashcan.

She dashes the thoughts that the action evoke within her, having remembered that she had loaded her large Marni bag with the trinkets that she had taken the night before. A photo of her, Louis, Jessica and Harvey, one of Mike and Rachel and a small terracotta bird that her grandmother gave her, placing each one back into their rightful place.

She smiles, sighing at the wave of calm that the action brings her, as she regains a shred of confidence, picking up the files and heading to the file room.

She takes in the smell of paper and toner and polish, from the cleaners departure, as she runs her hands along the many file boxes.

She drifts into her happy place, her fingers flicking through folders to find the right ones to match those under her arm.

She's in her own headspace then, having remembered a task from yesterday that had gotten shelved. She plucks two new files from a different box, gathering the heavy folder in her arms, as she chews on her pen, absentmindedly running over the exact task she had in mind. Something to do with a case of Mike's, if she remembers rightly. Something arbitrary, but necessary. Something to help him, should he run into hot water. She stalks out of the file-room, deep in thought as she gathers information that she'd shoved to the background, taking the stairs to the main floor and rounding the corner into the familiar hallway.

His presence hits her like a heavy wave against her chest.

She almost drops the pen from her lips, holding any near-visible shock deep inside herself.

He halts, his cheekbones sharpening as he straightens at the sight of her.

One glance is enough to tell her that he looks as if her presence has alarmed him. More than that, he's looking at her like she's the Ghost of Christmas past, which, given their colourful exchanges over the years, seems to ring truer than ever. She plants a blanket expression onto her face, trying not to look him over fully as she takes hold of the pen, plucking it out of her mouth.

"Hey...Harvey." She says, giving her best performance yet.

He looks like a little boy, lost at sea, steadily being pulled under by his own actions.

"Morning, Donna." He utters.

It causes her heart to falter slightly, and an emotion gets caught in her throat as he sides steps her complete, not allowing the time for his detached words to settle. She turns, watching him stalk away with shoulders tight and a withholding demeanour.

This feels like the time he caught her at the elevators with Louis' six sugars and his still wounded psyche.

 _At least the second time doesn't cut as deep..._

She straightens then, remembering one important detail of difference between the two times.

He can walk away from her. He can resist her, even.

 _But that cup of coffee will tug at his resolve. The taste will remind him. The smell will pull at his soft side._

Maybe even redeem her temporarily. Long enough to clear the air and still the churning waters between them.

Right now, he feels like an enormous mountain to climb, a Goliath task, all just to be back on common terms with the man.

But it's not her first hike, _into the wilds of Harvey Specter._

And she knows the route, to all his hidden places.

So she'll wait.

Until he's ready.

. . . ..

 _I took a bite out of a mountain range, thought my teeth would break the mountain dead_

 _Let's go, I wanna go all the way to the horizon_

 _I took a drink out of the ocean and I'm treading water there before I drown_

 _Let's dive, I wanna dive to the bottom of the ocean_

 _I took a ride, I took a ride, I wouldn't go there without you_

 _We'll take a ride, we'll take a ride, I wouldn't leave here without you_

 _I am the mountain_

 _I am the sea_

 _You can't take that away from me_

 _I am the mountain_

 _I am the sea_

 _You can't take that away from me_

 _'Cause you tear us apart with all the things you don't like_

 _You can't understand that I won't leave_

 _'Til we're finished here and then you'll find out_

 _Where it all went wrong_

 _Nothing lasts forever, except you and me_

 _'Cause you are my mountain, you are my sea_

 _Love can last forever between you and me_

 _'Cause you are my mountain, you are my sea_

' _Mountains' Acoustic Version By Biffy Clyro._

 _. . ..._


End file.
